A Slave's Life
by LunaYami
Summary: Tarawen was a young Elf who lived free, in a small forest in Gondor, until a Lord came and captured her, taking her out of her element and locking her in his home. While she tries to get free, she learns valuable lessons about the human race, who she can


Disclaimer: I do not own Arda, or anything, anyplace within it. Only John Ronald Reuel Tolkien holds that honor and those rights. I own only the people that came into my mind.  
  
I dedicate this to my friends, who helped me: Setsuna, and the people within her mind... thanks for everything. Shadow Girl, Kohachan... heh. You, too. Shadow Knight... you, and the people within the confines of your crazy mind helped more than you can probably guess... Tiger... thank you, Mellon Nin. Perrin, my cousin, for your constant pestering for me to write! Well, here! I posted! Happy, now?? XP Nyah! Flare... heh... I don't think I can explain that one... And thank you, everyone in Flare's mind, as well.... BlueFlameAngel... thanks for the cutoff point and advice...  
  
Elen: Speaking of cutoff point...  
  
Luna: Oh... yeah... heh... here ya go!  
  
The Capture  
  
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Harsul looked at his newest slave with a grin on his face. He had captured her as she wandered in one of the small forests in Gondor. Now that she was contained, he could show her off. She was the one that all the children had heard of, and that parents used to scare their children into staying away from the forests outside of town. She was the strange forest maiden that everyone had heard of and yet only a few had ever seen. Now he could prove she existed.  
  
She seemed to be an Elf, and yet at the same time she didn't. She had the pointed ears, lithe frame, long hands, and the emotional indifference of an Elf, but she also had dark skin, dark blue eyes, and dark hair. It just didn't fit. There was nothing else she could be, but Elves did not have dark features. Even when angered. She was unusual, and that intrigued him. There was one sure way to see if she was an Elf, or, rather, hear if she was an Elf, but he could not tell. Elves had angelic voices, ones that could entrance and mystify even the most cold-hearted monsters. This young Elf had not made a sound, for what seemed to be her lifetime. He knew she was not deaf, for she could hear him very well. She may just be mute, but there was no way to tell.  
  
He studied the Elf closely for what had to be the thousandth time. She was young, she could not be anything more than a child; and the rumors about the forest creature had only been around since his son came of age, and that was no more than eight summers ago. He wondered just how old she really was. With Elves, you could never tell. They could look no more than twenty and be well over a thousand years old. What was it he had heard about the Elven Children...? Ah, yes. That they mature quickly after they hit puberty. So she could not be that old, after all. Harsul grinned again. It would not be unseemly for his son to court this young girl... but then, she was a slave... maybe it would be... while Harsul thought about it, he started to shift his shoulders. The girl was glaring at his back again... her eyes were so different, so deep... So wonderful.  
  
He turned to the girl. "Must you glare at me like that?" He knew she was not going to answer him, but it never hurt to try, right? She just continued to glare. Perhaps she thought she could wear him down with her stubbornness and her determination to be free. He had only had her in his possession for about a week, and she had already run away three times. She never gave up. It was one of the qualities that made Harsul want to keep her even more. He just had to show her off to the other lords. They would never have a slave like her, or even see one like her, in their lifetime. He had to rub it in their faces.  
  
The best thing about an Elf as a slave was that they lived forever. His heirs would forever have a beautiful slave. If anything, she could be an unwilling lover. They also had a high endurance for pain, which could make things all the more fun. This one had just started to be a woman, so it would not be long, now. If nothing else, he could help her growth along. If he could find a way to break her spirit, he and his family will always have a loyal slave that stayed youthful.  
  
He thought for a while, trying to ignore the unblinking glare from such unnatural eyes. Maybe he could invite the other lords over for dinner, and show her off there. If he could get the girl into a dress... His thoughts were sent off-track when he could no longer stand the stare. He turned around and reached to slap her. She easily avoided his hand, even with the hindrance of the manacle around one slim ankle. He started to grow angry. She was smirking at him, because he could not catch her. "Damn you, girl, stand still!"  
  
He got an idea. The manacle only gave her a certain amount of chain for her to move. If he could make her move back enough that she had no chain left, she would be at the end of her rope... so to speak.  
  
He tried out his idea, only to find that to his dismay, she was too smart for that. She easily moved in a circle around his attempts to discipline her. Now it was all he could do to hold back his anger. She was a child. He really could hurt her, even if he did not try. He finally sighed and stepped on the chain, to hold her in place. He could see a shadow of fear cross her features for an instant before it was quickly masked by her indifferent, Elven serenity. She knew she was caught, and she knew she was about to be punished; but still she gave no surrender, or any indication that she was going to submit.  
  
That made him even angrier. If she did not submit to the pain, there was no fun in beating her. Even if she deserved it. Oh well. At least he could inflict some pain. Maybe it would slow her down. She was too quick, too agile. If she was slowed down, it would be easier to keep her confined... Also, it would be easier for one of the servants to get her into presentable clothes.  
  
He advanced on her, slowly, as to make her mentally suffer before he struck, carefully keeping a foot strongly on the chain at all times. The Elven girl was very intelligent and clever. Another thing about her that interested him. When he struck her, she fell to the ground, and got back up, defiance glittering in her strange sapphire eyes. He struck her again, hoping that for her sake she would stay down. She did not. He could not show weakness, for she would pounce on it and exploit that weakness. He realized with a slight shock that she must be thinking the same thing. He struck her until he was forced to stop before he permanently damaged her.  
  
He sighed again and called one of the servants who had been watching the display with wide eyes over to take her to the cellar. Maybe a few days away from food and light would put some sense other than stubbornness in that girl's head. He blinked, then smiled. That would be a perfect name for her. Stubborn maiden. What was the Elvish translation of that, he wondered. Once he found it, that would be her name. ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
He was at the dinner, with his fellow Lords sitting around the table. They had just finished their dinner, and were waiting for what Harsul was so proud about. When the girl was led out, still in her tunic and loose pants, for the servants could not get her into a dress, they all were stunned. She was so strange and exotic. They had never seen anything like her. One man with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes offered to buy her on the spot. Harsul quickly declined. He wanted to keep his hard-gotten prize.  
  
He grinned as the girl glared at the entire room, hate and disgust radiating from her. "My friends, I would like you to meet my newest addition. Tarawen," he said, addressing the men and knocking them out of their startled state.  
  
The same man that had tried to buy Tarawen spoke. "That sounds like the Wood-Elf's speech. What does it mean?" Harsul replied smoothly, allowing himself a small smile for his idea and the credit he would receive for it. "Stubborn maiden." All of the lords nodded their agreement to this. It sounded like the perfect name, even though they had just met her moments before.  
  
The girl they called Tarawen tried to run, sensing the thoughts of all of the grown men in the room as they studied her. She did not trust them. She did not see how anyone could. Their minds were full of malicious thoughts, and she knew none of them would think twice before acting on them. She wanted to go back to her quiet wood, where she could run free and keep away from this race that wanted to control everything in its path. All of them that insisted that anything that resisted their rule must be dealt with and brought to obey.  
  
She glared the one with light red hair directly in the eyes. He was the one who took her from her wood, her sanctuary. He is the one who is trying to break her. It has already been a few weeks, and nothing has changed. She does not give in, he beats her, then locks her away in the cold, damp cellar for a few days at a time. It will not change, so why does he not give up? Does he truly want a slave that will not bend to his will? Maybe he is as stubborn as she is. He already named her as such—literally. She wondered if she would be stuck here for eternity. Then she mentally shook herself out of it. Thinking like that is what would eventually make her surrender.  
  
Harsul watched the girls' discomfort with a lazy grin on his face. When the lords were all asking both himself and Tarawen questions, he wrapped a familiar arm around her shoulders and answered their questions in the same lazy manner as his smile. His grin widened when she stiffened. She must not like people near her, and certainly not touching her. Especially in such a familiar way.  
  
She was ignoring the lords and their questions when Harsul put an arm around her shoulders. She quickly stiffened. He should not have done that. She ducked out of his 'embrace' and backed up, anger slightly showing through her features, but flowing from her eyes. She put her hand behind her back and slipped out a small dagger she made out of bone from her belt. She always kept it on her. She charged at Harsul expertly bringing the dagger down. It should have stabbed him in the throat, but one of Harsul's servants did the unexpected and blocked it with his own blade. She jumped back in surprise. She had momentarily forgotten everyone else in the room. The lords were all staring at her, appraising looks on their faces. Harsul just looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face. Tarawen had not noticed before how crowded the room was, and she was scared. There were so many people here, so many strangers, all looking at her and making her nervous. She jumped when another servant bound her hands and knocked the dagger out of them.  
  
She looked about the room with some fear. It seemed so small, now. She stole a quick glance at the manacle about one of her ankles, and the chain leading to a servant. There was not much hope to escape unless she could get the servant to release his hold on the chain. He seemed to realize that, then, because he tightened his grip on the link in his hands until his knuckles were white from the effort. The men were all talking, now, but she could not understand them. She could not understand their language, only a few words, and those were not enough to puzzle out what they were saying. She could only read their thoughts, for no matter what languages one spoke on the outside, they were all the same on the inside. All minds and thoughts speak the same.  
  
She easily broke the rope binding her hands. There was a reason they had bound her foot with iron. She was far stronger than any of them had thought possible. When she ran toward the men holding the chain, he braced himself but still fell when she rammed her shoulder into him. She quickly grabbed the chain up so it would not trip her up and ran out the door and out of the citadel grounds without a second thought.  
  
When she reached the comfort of the surrounding trees, she allowed herself to relax a little. Tarawen knew they would be back. Maybe she could get away before they caught up. She then realized that her small pack was still at the red-haired man's house. She mentally cursed herself several times over for not having a clear enough head to think of that. The bow and quiver full of arrows she had made were in it, along with the herbs she used for healing and food as well as her extra tunic, pants, and shift. Tarawen sighed sadly. She would either have to go back and get them, or make all new weapons and sew all new clothes. She did not like the prospect of either.  
  
Tarawen stood up straight when she heard heavy feet running. They were coming toward the wood. She climbed a tree with difficulty and with more noise than she would have made if she had not been burdened with the chain and manacle. She would have to figure out how to get rid of those as well.  
  
Harsul approached the wood, trying to be as quiet as possible, though he knew it would do no good. The girl's senses seemed far better than any Elf he had ever seen, all 7 senses. He looked around for the same tree that she had sheltered in before, but did not see any sign of her in or around it. She must have guessed that would be the first place he would look. He ordered his servants to look around inside, keeping their senses sharp out for any sign of movement. He had just gotten that slave not long ago, and he was not about to lose her as quickly.  
  
He chuckled to himself when he saw the chain glint in the dying light of the setting sun. He knew the manacle would help, he just did not guess it would be for this purpose. He jogged toward the tree and pulled on the chain, almost dislodging the little She-Elf. He could hear her quickly grab a branch above her and get a death grip on it. He laughed at the irony of his thought. That was probably just how she thought of it, too. If she lost her grip, in her eyes, she would be dead. Doomed to life within a cage, on a chain, or both. After this, he would not give her the chance to do anything of the sort again.  
  
Tarawen grabbed a branch above her with lightning-quick speed when she felt the man try to pull the chain and it's captive out of the tree. She knew who it was, she would never forget his aura. Not the look, the feel, or the sound of it. She could not forget it if she tried. It was embedded into her memory, just like every word the men said. She may not be able to understand their tongue now, but she had the sinking feeling that she would eventually. She could not keep this tight a hold on the branch forever, and he was about as stubborn as she was, maybe more.  
  
Her previous thought that she would be doomed to a cage and a life within his household was redoubled when the pull got stronger, as if more people were pulling, and the feel of more auras below her. She knew that once she was back in his house, she might never come out again. That he would not ever give her even a remote chance of escape. She had never felt a total loss of hope, but now; she did.  
  
She fell unceremoniously out of the tree and landed on a tree root. She was then hauled up to her feet by both of her arms by the two servants that had added their strength to the red-haired man's to get her out of her haven. Her heart fell. She gave a small sigh, even though they could not hear it or see it. She had lost, and had to admit it for now. She would not lose faith, though. They could take away everything she had, but they could not take away her hope, her faith, or her soul. Those she could only give up by choice, and she would never do that. Not for these people.  
  
Harsul felt a surge of happiness when he and his servants finally got the girl out of the tree. He felt even happier when they got her to her feet and she did not struggle. Maybe some sense had been knocked into her by the fall. That hope was quickly put to rest, to maybe return later. But definitely not now. Her eyes betrayed her thoughts. She would pretend to be subdued, but she was nowhere close to it. She would never give up her faith. He sighed. He really did not want to beat the girl to break her spirit, because this made it fun. He got a thought and grinned inwardly as he told the servants to lead the girl back to his small citadel. There were more ways than one to break a girl's spirit... ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
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